kerouac says

the story of the first thanksgiving is our real anniversary. the monkey and i made plans to spend wednesday midnight until friday evening call time only with us, and no other people, because it was the thing we most wanted in the world. we stayed in bed until three, eating bagels and doing the crossword. we made the little birds in the oven, and he let me help, and i had to go buy a saucepan at bartell's for the green beans, and he put bourbon in the potatoes. but the whole day, the whole time of it, we were smashed up against each other as fully as we could do it, because no amount of close was enough. the next day i felt like i had the print of him embossed on me. thanksgiving was the falling in love holiday. the day i fell so hard i forgot to call my mother on a family holiday. it was the best day i have ever had.

yesterday was fine and low key, and involved friends, and my learning to get away with calling a jackass a jackass at a party and get away with it. the best parts of it, though, are the echoes of the first year present all through it. and somehow it's stronger this morning. he's right here on the couch. i'm touching him with my feet. i thought i might never have anything like this.